


sing in silent harmony

by chalmskinn



Series: it's been a long time coming [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Angst, Injury, M/M, Vietnam War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalmskinn/pseuds/chalmskinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The world is dripping like liquid onto the black nothingness of below, and escaping his eyes with the thick, salty tears of confusion and distress. He’s falling, and it seems like he has been falling for an eternity.</i>
</p><p>Your life is no more than marks on a calendar, counting down to the inevitable oblivion that is time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing in silent harmony

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to 'a fair wind', also inspired by Crosby, Stills & Nash's self-titled debut album; the name comes from 'Guinevere', one of my favourite songs from the album (though I feel slightly ridiculous saying that as I adore every song from the album), and a song that I feel fits the mood of the piece well.

The foliage is aqueous, and it blurs and runs like watercolours on wet paper, dripping onto the things below to create pools and rivers of diluted colour. The crimson liquid from his body seeps into the fabric surrounding it, and the green of the plants and the red of his blood blend together in his mind to create a murky brown that makes him feel nauseous and dirty.

The world is dripping like liquid onto the black nothingness of below, and escaping his eyes with the thick, salty tears of confusion and distress. He’s falling, and it seems like he has been falling for an eternity, with the distinct feelings of weightlessness and a dull throbbing pain both vying for his immediate attentions as gravity drags him down onto the muddy earth.

The crown of his head hits the ground and he is overcome with an ache so deep and so real that his ribs quiver and his knees pull together. He takes in a heavy gasp, the water of the air sticking to his diaphragm, and his eyes wide, open and glassy.

His vision is blurred and the landscape is smudged, a messy, colour filled, oil pastel piece, where everything is chaos and nothing is everywhere, gaping black holes, bleeding through and gathering on the colours and the distinct pink of the mouth in front of him, which moves like the press of body against body, soft, burnt in the harsh light of the tropical sun, and vigorous.

The pink mouth places their hands under his arms and pulls, and he hears a pained groan, first violin to the bass of the gunfire and the yelling, which has become no more than a dull, infinite note in the drums of his ears. The tall grass and wide leaves cast shadows upon him and the pink mouth, and his pallid arm reaches up to grasp onto the heaven-sent being of pink, white, green, and brown, and stare deeply, intimately, and hazily into the storm-blue eyes.

A dull green meets an intense blue, and he feels his thin lips touch and breath escape. His vocal chords twitch, and release a single syllable, which the blue-eyed, pink-mouthed, heaven-sent being rewards with an affirmative nod and quirk of the lips to the left.

“I’ll find him, I promise. Just don’t move, hear me?”

Loki falls.

He looks into the blue eyes of the angel, and the black holes grow, and the green leaves drip onto his body, and envelop him in numbness and darkness, where the blue eyes change shape, and the pupils expand, and the blond eyelashes brush his cheekbone, where tepid droplets of salted water rest and pool, for small insects to come and quench their thirst. Fingers thread through the ebony hair on his head, and they tug loosely, and hold onto him like a bouquet of flowers at a graveyard. Damp warmth radiates and pulses in iambs from the thick fingers, and he feels himself sink further into the ground, where he becomes a seed, the earth, a place for new life to grow, and for sky-blue eyes to weep, to water the terrain where he lays, where he is at one with the earth.

“I won’t leave you.”

Loki’s vision is a green-black, where blue stars flash in the distance and sing out for him, and he falls, and he falls, and there is no stopping it, and he falls. The green disappears. It is black. Loki falls.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by CSN as mentioned above, and as like the previous piece, Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now (aka my fave film yo).
> 
> Thank you for reading. :*


End file.
